Darksylvia
Written for the Worst-case Scenario Challenge. Tthank you dreamcatcher for catching those mistakes.
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“What are we doing in rural China again?” asked Brian.
“Adopting a child,” said Justin.
“Oh yeah. Ted owes me free taxes forever after this.”
“He already does both of our taxes for free.”
“Okay, then he should forgo his salary. Except then he wouldn’t be able to support
Ted Junior. Or maybe Thea Junior.” Brian grimaced.
“You like Ted,” said Justin, smiling slightly.
Brian shrugged. “Tell me when we get there.” Brian pulled his fingers away from
where they’d been obsessively stroking the hairs on Justin’s neck and took out
his cellphone to check his email. Again.
The ancient taxi rattled to a stop quite a ways outside of town, probably because
the road sort of disappeared. The equally ancient taxi driver waved to them,
smiling toothily, and Justin handed him more Chinese money than it technically
cost for their ride, mostly because he had given up trying to do the exchange
rates in his head. He used two of his five Chinese words, all learned within
the last week to say, “Wait, please.” Then he got out and marched into the small
town, knowing that Brian would be along eventually.
It was an odd mix of old and modern--the buildings were old, but they had powerlines.
The streets were unpaved, but the houses had concrete walls. The meeting house
was the largest building in town and that was where the adoption would take
place, where the Chinese officials were supposed to meet them, and where Justin
and Brian would sign papers on Ted and Blake’s behalf, thus--according to Brian--indenturing
Ted for life.
He heard Brian’s footsteps before an arm hooked around his shoulders. “Where
are they?” Brian asked glancing up and then glancing back down at his phone,
relying on Justin to guide him. Their feet continued to crunch with each step
as they strode across the gravelly dirt.
“I don’t know. It does kind of look deserted.” Kind of, as in totally. Where
were all the people? He hoped this wasn’t some sort of bizarre Chinese horror
film they’d inadvertantly wandered into.
Brian poked him in the arm, and Justin brushed his finger away in annoyance.
“What?”
“Look,” Brian pointed at his cellphone screen. It was a weather alert. For a
sandstorm. Headed for the nearly non-existent town they were standing in. Justin
looked west and saw a brown cloud, very small and low, but growing as he watched.
“Holy shit, Brian!”
Brian grabbed his wrist. “The town is closer than the taxi," he said, in the
deadly calm voice that meant he was freaking out.
So they sprinted to the meeting house. The cloud got closer, the wind got louder,
and by the time they were pounding on the door, it was nearly impossible to
to hear their own knocking. Justin found himself swearing a little hysterically
under his breath, Brian’s fingers digging into his forearm while Brian pounded
and shouted ineffectually at the locked door.
“I know what to do,” shouted Justin after several deep breaths. He had read
in one of Daphne's coffeetable books about surviving a sandstorm--and a train
crash and a bank robbery, which had seemed more likely at the time.
Justin dug around in his messenger bag and pulled out the baby blanket Lindsay
had given them for Ted Junior. Then he pulled out a small tube. It wasn’t vaseline
like the book had recommended, but it was all he had. Brian’s ridiculously expensive
silicone lube was better than nothing, right?
One glance over his shoulder at the approaching cloud, then he shoved Brian--who
was eyeing him strangely--against the wall. When he snapped open the lube, Brian
raised an eyebrow and said something that sounded like, “Now?” but subsided
when Justin rubbed the lube inside his own nose and then handed it over to Brian.
Hesitating only a second, Brian did the same. Then he towed Justin by the strap
of his bag to the most sheltered side of the building. He separated the strap
from Justin’s chest and loosened it to make room for himself, the bag holding
them chest to chest. Justin arranged the blanket over their heads and put his
hands around Brian’s neck to hold it in place. Brian copied him, and firmly
backed him up against the wall. They leaned their foreheads together, breathed
shallowly, and waited.
Gradually came the curious noise of billions of particles of sand hitting every
surface for miles, including each other. It was like a long, rough sigh, with
a touch of waves crashing or maybe a hard rain falling, but so very dry. Sand
tickled up through Justin’s sleeves and his pants and after a while it started
to sting. He had his eyes shut instinctively and it was odd living in a dark,
sighing little world, Brian’s breath brushing his chin. Or maybe it was like
being blind in a room with a television tuned to static. It made his brain feel
blank, scoured like the buildings, and he lost track of time, counting Brian’s
breaths instead.
When he got to one hundred and twelve, the noise started to die down. By one
hundred and forty-five, it had stopped blowing hard enough to sting. Brian pulled
away slightly and coughed.
“Ted Junior had better grow up to be a genius and support all of us in our retirement,”
said Brian. “I think I have sand in my ass.”
“Me too.” Justin let his arms drop and the blanket came free, raining sand everywhere.
“And this lube smells funny.” The door to the meeting house cracked open.
“I promise it won’t be anywhere near your nose when we get back.” Brian shook
himself and rained more sand. “Now let’s get this baby and get the hell out
of the Grapes of Wrath.
-end-